Bloodborne: Brotherhood
by MasterDudley
Summary: The Hunt has left its mark on the dark city of Yharnam, and there is no better evidence of this than those that reside within. When three Hunters are forced to work together to combat the beastly scourge, will they be able to overcome their differences and save their home? Or will their inner darkness get the best of them?
1. Chapter 1

The Hunters had bathed in blood that night. It dripped down their scavenged clothing, finding its way into every crease and every fold. It would never, could never, be washed away, and its sickly, intoxicating aroma would forever follow them, forever tempt them to forget the things that keep them fighting, but they never could. They were resting. They deserved it, having just taken down a particularly troublesome Church Giant. They were low on bullets and vials, and the night had only just begun.

Christopher sat apart from the other two, as he tended to do. He rested in a corner at the end of the small alley, his back to the wall. He made it a point to keep a very close eye on his companions, always made sure to never trust anyone too much. The Blood wasn't too picky about who it consumed, so it was safest to assume that anyone could turn at any time. It was a hard lesson to learn, but a vital one when one chose to reside in the hellish pit that was Yharnam. Christopher had realized early on that it was never smart to get too close to others, and it was a test he failed more often than he cared to admit. Someone always ended up dead

 _Not this time._

Gideon was perched on the second step leading into the main street, his ear literally to the ground attempting to detect any beasts that may impede their already brief respite. He was a puzzling one. While hunting, he was quiet, brooding even, yet whenever given the chance to unwind, he always proved to be obnoxiously pleasant to be around. He was an intelligent man, as evidenced by the plethora of weapons and devices he claimed to have created to better fight the beastly scourge, and consistently offered to share his thoughts and insights with his two companions, even when wholly unwanted.

The big one—who, stupidly enough, insisted on being called Beast—wore his favorite ichor-stained set of Executioner's robes. They were the same ones he wore when Christopher first met him down in the Gaol. The man had seemed foolish and impulsive to Christopher then, and had proven to be doubly so in the weeks since. In the time Christopher had known him, Beast had managed to nearly lose three separate limbs to a Lycan, and had successfully slain a Cleric Beast, of all things, with a sound kick to the jaw. He put on that none of this mattered to him, that it is all simply a game, but Christopher knew the truth. He had heard the names muttered through nightmares in the darkness. Beast, for all his posturing, was just as scared as the rest of them.

A slight chuckle escaped Christopher's lips. Even muffled by the leather mask he wore to cover the putrid stench of the Hunt, in the dead silence of the moment, he may as well have been howling. The others noticed immediately.

Beast turned his gaze away from the puddle he had been intensely studying. "What's so funny?" There was that impulsiveness again.

 _Oh good, now he wants to fight._

Christopher slowly stood. Readying himself for the possibility of an attack.

"Did you hear me?" Beast asked, turning to face Christopher. "I asked you a question." His muscles visibly tensed.

Christopher's hand flew to the hilt of his curved dagger. He sunk into a defensive stance, ready for any move Beast might make. As Christopher stood there, eyes locked with the goliath of a man, it occurred to him that he might not actually be a match for his comrade. It was one thing to do battle with a true beast that was larger than oneself; it didn't have the mind of a man. And, though it could very well have been argued whether this Beast possessed the mind of a man, he was, at the very least, more advanced than a creature of the Hunt.

It was only then that Christopher realized how long he had been frozen in that position, waiting for the brute to make a move. It occurred to him that in the twenty or so seconds that had passed, Beast could have destroyed him twice over, yet he had not. Until then he had been looking only at Beast's hips, hoping to receive an early clue as to any move the man was going to make. Now he shifted his gaze up. As he looked into the same eyes that had appeared so angry, so ready to break the next thing that dared speak to them, Christopher saw only amusement and, suddenly realizing that he was the butt of a joke, let his body relax.

"Dammit, Beast," Christopher muttered under his breath, this time making sure no one heard it but himself.

A raucous laughter erupted from their dark alley hiding spot, echoing through the whole district. Beast never had been one for the subtleties of the Hunt.

"You should 'ave seen the look on your face!" he hollered, and once again released a booming guffaw into the night. "I swear. You really need to loosen up, mate."

Christopher scowled. He was feeling a very odd combination of rage and embarrassment—one he had come to expect when dealing with his boisterous ally—and couldn't help but wonder if his eyes had turned as red as his face had.

"Dammit, Beast," Christopher said it louder this time, glad his leather mask covered the slight smirk that he couldn't keep from spreading across his face. He didn't need Beast thinking he was funnier than he already did.

Gideon spoke for the first time since they had set out. "Would you like to shut up, or would you prefer we all get burned to a crisp by Beast-Possessed Soul?"

"We got one coming up?" Beast asked with as close to whisper one could get a voice as deep as his own.

"Seems likely, I've never smelled anything quite like burnt blood. It's either that, or a few beast patients somehow figured out how to open the gate and escaped from Old Yharnam, but I'll believe their blood-addled minds could manage that when I see it."

Beast grinned. He loved the thought of killing things, but he always seemed to enjoy it more when he was in danger of being burned alive. Christopher had to admit, he understood the rush. It was part of why it was so risky to take part in the Hunt. Not only did one have to worry about their physical wellbeing, but there was also the threat of becoming what the old man called "blood-drunk," when a Hunter became so enamored with the thought of slaughter that they did so without discrimination. If he was honest with himself, Christopher had to admit that Beast had become increasingly aggressive in the past few nights. He would have to keep a close eye on the man.

 _Later. For now, the Hunt calls._

Gideon rose to his feet, using his hands to demonstrate the creature's approximate location. He drew his cane and swung it through the open air, releasing the locking mechanism, and letting it unfurl into the bladed whip that it concealed. Beast, still grinning his crazy grin, reached for the grip of the massive stone hammer he carried on his back and pulled fiercely to the side. He pulled out the clean, silver sword and brandished it in front of him, the moonlight reflected off the blade and briefly blinded the others. Christopher drew his short dagger and swiftly split it in two, he would need the speed for this battle.

The three Hunters shared the briefest of looks, mentally confirming their plan of action. Gripping their weapons, they went, without another word, into the dark night.


	2. Chapter 2

"Do you plan on grunting like that all night!?" Beast's voice boomed through the massive cathedral as he turned towards the nearest corner. In his annoyance, he flung his fountain pen at the face of one of the many ornate stone statues that adorned the walls. The ink splattered across the head of the terrifying creature that it depicted.

Christopher had been shadow boxing for the past ten minutes or so, and was so engrossed in the exercise that he hadn't realized how loud he had become. Not that he would have made any conscious effort to combat the effect even if he had noticed it. He spun his head to lock eyes with his uncharacteristically quiet companion.

"I didn't originally, but now that you mention it," Christopher said, squinting. He turned back to his shadow and resumed his punching.

Beast scoffed. "Fine then, just so long as you know what you sound like." He turned his head, "Like a pig in heat." He muttered. He spit on the finely chiseled stone tiles, as he tended to do when he was dissatisfied with anything. He was about to return to his writing when he remembered that he had thrown his writing utensil. He spit again.

Time always seemed to pass slowly on the night of the Hunt, but this was agonizing. The only sounds Beast heard for the next hour or so was the furious scratching of his own pen and Christopher's incessant grunting. It was too much, even for Beast, who prided himself on his patience and levelheadedness. He needed to do something to break the silence. Once more he turned to face his obnoxious friend.

"Oi, Christopher! What rhymes with moon?"

The apparent pugilist sighed and once again dropped his fists. He turned to look back at Beast, his whole body this time, and leaned back into the corner.

"What's the context?" he said, sighing again when the question was over.

Beast smiled; glad his friend had taken the bait. "Love. Anything tha' has to do with feelings of love."

It was impossible for him to miss the intense red that blanketed Christopher's face.

"Swoon…I guess." Christopher grumbled.

Beast's grin grew. "What was tha'? I couldn't quite hear you." He put his hand to his ear, cupping it slightly to give the appearance that he was listening intently.

"I said swoon you idiot!" shouted the usually passive man. Discussions of romance seemed to be one of the only ways to get a rise out of him, and Beast made use of this shame at every opportunity.

Laughter started to grow in his stomach, it crept its way up to his mouth. It forced his mouth open. It was going to explode into the open air and would likely attract every beast in the area to the old cathedral that the three Hunters inhabited. It was going to, but then Beast saw the look on Christopher's face. It was still red, but Beast felt it was very likely that it was for a completely different reason now.

 _He is going to hit me._

Christopher started to lift his right hand and clenched it tight into a fist.

 _He is going to hit me very, very hard._

Beast started to back away. He was, for all intents and purposes, afraid. It was one thing to fight a beast; their strength was directly proportional to their size. This man though, he was different. Beast had seen Christopher, relieved of his blade and firearm and pinned to the ground, summon a strength that could rival that of a brick troll, and force his way out from under a fairly large Lycan. It was this witnessed strength that made Beast extremely happy to have Gideon around to keep Christopher in check.

 _But Gideon isn't here right now._

Christopher's left hand was coming up now. Beast closed his eyes. His body tightened up. He had no idea just how hard Christopher could hit, but he knew he didn't want to find out. He slowly crept backwards, never daring to risk opening his eyes for the fear that he would see only a clenched fist on its way to connecting with his jaw. So he kept moving back, until of course he couldn't anymore.

Beast's back hit the wall. He had nowhere to go anymore, he would have to face what was coming. Slowly, very slowly, he allowed his eyes to open. Bit by bit he allowed the dim light of the massive hall to fill his vision, and it wasn't until they were half open that he realized what was wrong with what he was seeing. His eyelids shot up. Christopher was gone, and with a sigh, Beast let his guard drop as he pushed off the hideous statue he had unintentionally violated. He took a few steps forward. Christopher must have gone to the dream.

Beast cursed under his breath; he should have known Christopher was just messing with him. It had been a month, and despite all of his posturing Christopher had still never actually laid hands on him. Beast had attempted to spar with the man not long after they had first met, he had taken one look at the small-framed Hunter and thought it would be an easy win. It was over in ten seconds, and Christopher hadn't even needed to throw a punch, said he wouldn't do anything to actually hurt Beast unless he deemed it necessary.

Good thing Beast hadn't made him too mad.

Beast reached back to scratch the small of his back. The statue he had backed into must have had a spear or something, he had been feeling a small stabbing itch since he had moved forward off of the wall. He stood there, scratching and rubbing in intervals, for at least a minute. He wasn't sure exactly how long it took for him to get fed up enough to turn around, but finally, with a growl of frustration, he did.

Christopher was staring directly into Beast's eyes, baring his teeth with a malicious grin. He held his dagger in his right hand, pointed directly at Beasts bellybutton. That must have been the stinging feeling. Christopher's left hand was lying limply across the back of Beast's neck, not needing to work very hard to keep Beast from moving. With a speed that Beast was barely able to make out, Christopher threw his armed hand forward. Beast jumped back, tripping and rolling over his head as he did so. He was barely able to get his bearings before Christopher was on him again. He flailed wildly, but it did him no good, a sharp pain shot through his chest. He screamed, still swinging his arms this way and that. Beast was going to die, maybe he was already dead. Christopher had stabbed him in cold blood—over a joke of all things—and he hadn't even had a chance to defend himself. He started to cry. He started to cry and Christopher had started to laugh.

Beast opened his eyes; when had he closed them? He was laying on his back clutching his chest. He was trying to stop the flow of blood, at least that's what he felt like he should do. He had never been stabbed directly in the chest before, and now that he realized that he was not, in fact, stopping the blood flow—for indeed there was no blood to stop—he knew that that was still very much true. He had simply been jabbed very hard with a small brown teasing comb. He laid on the cold stone floor, tears streaming from his eyes, and started to laugh as well. He howled with a laughter that was so loud and boisterous that it could only have been genuine.


	3. Chapter 3

The fools were laughing when Gideon returned from the Dream. Beast was laying on his back, holding the comb that Christopher occasionally used to tug at his mop of hair. Christopher himself was leaning against the back wall clutching his stomach as he cackled, gasping for air. What kind of grown man cackled like that?

 _The same kind that wears rouge, I suppose._

Gideon shook his head at the thought, what a man does in his time is his business. And besides, just because he had the cosmetic in his bag didn't mean he used it, right?

Regardless of whether or not the man used makeup in any sort of capacity, Christopher made Gideon uneasy. He was always so calm. It was understandable, preferable even, when one's Hunting partner was able to maintain composure while in the field, but there comes a point when it becomes unnerving. The first time Gideon had met Christopher, he watched the man kill another Hunter in cold blood. The man had said something that the dagger-wielding fiend had found objectionable, and in response found himself stabbed through the jugular. Christopher slept soundly that night, while Gideon was left heaving his guts into the gutter. This man unsettled Gideon greatly, and yet he had still made those infernal gloves.

He made his way slowly to his bedroll. Beast constantly teased him for making use of such a luxury, said there was no point in pretending life was anything near normal anymore.

"Don't come crying to me when your hunched over and can barely move." Gideon had told the giant in response. Beast pulled a muscle in his sleep that same night.

The man had begged Gideon for help, of course, and, of course, Gideon had done everything he could to help him. Beast hated the monsters of the Hunt with every fiber of his being, and loved his friends just as much. The night that Gideon had met his two companions, when Gideon found himself unable to find sleep's kind embrace, Beast had come to him. He had draped his cloak, still warm despite its various tears and frayed edges, gently over Gideon's small frame. He had patted Gideon's back, not saying anything, simply staying with him. That had been the first time since he had taken up the Hunt that Gideon had looked at another person and seen a human being. Beast was not simply a liability, he was more than a simple beast-to-be. He was Gideon's friend. He was Gideon's friend, and Gideon would have to kill him someday.

It wasn't until Christopher spoke to him that Gideon realized he was staring.

"You're back, I see. What took you so long?" Christopher asked. "Was the old coot really that talkative?"

Gideon tried to smile at that comment. Christopher clearly didn't like Gherman, for whatever reason, and constantly poked fun at the poor old Hunter. It was a dislike that Gideon couldn't understand. Gherman was nothing but kind to him, and seemed to truly have his best interests at heart. There had been a few times, when the old caretaker of the Hunter's Dream was sleeping, that Gideon heard him muttering oddities about things long gone and people long dead, but nothing truly worrying. Still, Gideon showed none of his distaste.

"Not particularly, couldn't find him at all in fact. Pity too, I could have used his advice on something."

Christopher laughed then. "What could you possibly need that fool for?"

"I needed some advice on making leather out of a certain type of hide, particularly the soaking process," Gideon responded, glad to have an opportunity to change the subject. "Electricity and water tend not to mix too well, you know."

Christopher to a step forward, crossing his arms. "Electricity? You were working with Darkbeast skin?" A scowl crossed his face. "What could you do with that?"

Gideon smiled again, this time with genuine joy. He wouldn't have been surprised if someone had told him there was a slight twinkle in his eye as he reached into the small leather pouch on his hip. He fumbled briefly with the tie, only partially for dramatic tension, before finally reaching his target and pulling it from the pouch. Gideon held the pair of blackish-grey leather gloves before him, watching Christopher to see his reaction; sure enough, he caught something. The corner of his mouth had twitched. It was just a little, but it had happened, and Gideon had seen it.

Beast dragged himself up from his spot on his ground and slowly crept over, curious to see what Gideon had brought them this time. That was when it occurred to Gideon just how often he actually did this. Not "this" as in making things; he loved creating, always had. What he realized was how frequently he made things for _them_ and made _them_ guess as to what they were. He had learned—after the Hunt began and he was forced to ally himself with others—that sharing his creations and his musings brought an entirely different kind of joy.

Christopher scowled again, "Are you going to tell us what these are for, are you just going to stand there grinning like a lunatic?"

"These, my aggressive friend," Gideon said as he gave them a slight wave. "Are the best pair of boxing gloves you will ever have."

There was another slight twitch at the corner of Christopher's mouth. It was more obvious this time, he must have been happy to let even that much joy appear on his face. Beast, on the other hand, gave a disapproving grunt and stomped back to his belongings. Gideon would have to do something for him next.

Christopher ignored their annoyed associate and quickly snatched up the new pair of gloves. He slipped them on with a smile on his face.

"I'm not going to ask why they fit so perfectly, but just know that I find it somewhat disturbing," Christopher said as he clenched his fists and threw a few quick punches.

 _He's in a joking mood. That's good._

"Their lightweight and flexible, but solid enough to protect your hands from the dangers of repeatedly slamming them into walls of flesh, but that's just the beginning."

Gideon reached out and grabbed Christopher's fists, an action that clearly made the man uncomfortable. Gideon took the hands and quickly struck the knuckles together. A loud chirping sound echoed through the massive cathedral as sparks erupted from the dull grey gloves. Christopher held them in front of his face, the blue light of the electricity illuminated his face and cast freakish reflections in his eyes, which were filled with a fascination akin to a child striking a match.

"Darkbeast hide, huh?..." muttered the man as he stood, enraptured by the cacophony of sparks mere inches from his head. "Now where did you find one of those behemoths?"

Did Gideon's eye twitch at that?

"We brought one down near old Yharnam, remember?" He posited.

Christopher looked up from his new toys, squinting. "Did we? I don't seem to recall ever encountering one, myself."

Gideon couldn't look him in the eye. Christopher turned his head, never taking his eyes off of Gideon, and yelled to Beast, who was once again lying on the floor.

"Beast! You ever taken down a Darkbeast?"

Beast shot up instantly. "I sure as 'ell have not!" He was over with the other two faster than seemed possible for a man of his size. "Why? 'ave you found where one is?" He was practically drooling.

"No, I haven't," Christopher sighed. "You would be the first one to know if I had. I'm asking because Gideon doesn't want to tell where he got the leather for these gloves from." His glare was intense, like he intended to will the answer out with his anger alone.

 _Better that than his blade, I suppose._

Beast turned his head towards Gideon, his eyes wide. "You've seen a Darkbeast!?" He reached out and grabbed Gideon's shoulders, giving them a slight shake. "You FOUGHT a Darkbeast! You killed it!? Why wouldn't you tell me that!?" He was still shaking. He was smiling, grinning like a madman.

 _Let go of me._

Gideon kept looking ahead, staring right into Christopher's eyes again. Those damn eyes. The slight brownish-yellow tinge that marked him as a Hunter was spreading through his sclera and getting more intense, he was using too much blood. Gideon stared into those eyes as he was shaken by his monster of a companion. He felt his face growing hot. His mouth was creeping into a snarl.

 _Let go of me, Beast. Please._

Why wouldn't the words come out? He could only stand there and let it happen. Let this Beast berate him for not sharing every aspect of his past. The hypocrite. How much didn't Gideon know about either of them? His face began to contort into a mask of rage. Christopher saw, and his face softened. Gideon felt tears forming. Hot, they streaked down his face.

"Beast, lay off him." He reached an arm out to the man's shoulder. "I think he's had enough." He pulled, but the man didn't stop.

He kept shaking. Yelling and laughing, and shaking. Gideon couldn't take it anymore. He felt his fist start to come up. Christopher saw it coming.

"That's enough Beast! He doesn't think this is funny anymore!" He was pulling on the man with all his strength. "If you don't stop it now, then–"

A resounding _crack_ signaled the connection between Gideon's fist and the side of Beast's massive head.

"Get the hell off of me, you overgrown child!"

Beast flew to the ground and landed with a resounding thud. The air went out of him, and before he could even manage to get it back, Gideon was on him. His fists buried themselves into the giant's face over and over again. The sound of flesh beating flesh echoed through the chamber. Gideon heard Christopher shouting at him, but couldn't understand what he was saying, couldn't even understand what was happening. He felt hands on his shoulders, felt arms wrap around his torso, and felt himself being thrown through the air.

Gideon didn't know how long he had been on the ground before he came to, but he didn't imagine it had been long. He could hear muttering coming from a corner, Beast was sleeping.

 _It will have to be big, whatever I make him. Big and flaming._

Christopher was looking down at him, the look in his eyes somewhere between pity and understanding. He extended his hand.

"Are you done, then?"

Gideon said nothing, simply taking the hand and pulling himself into a sitting position. Christopher dropped himself down next to him, and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. He put his hand on Gideon's shoulder.

"So, who was it, this Darkbeast?"

Gideon didn't like that question, didn't want to answer it. He wished he had the energy to fight. A sigh escaped his lips as well.

"My wife," he said, never took his eyes off the stone floor. "I woke up to the sound of lightning, then screaming. I found her laying on the floor of our parlor, fully transformed." A tear escaped down his cheek. "She hadn't grown to the full size yet, she was just…laying there. She…she was crying."

Christopher sat for a long while, saying nothing. Simply absorbing the answer, or maybe allowing Gideon to do so. Eventually, he sighed again and gave Gideon's shoulder a light pat.

Standing he said, "Well then, grab some matches and come with me." He didn't look down at Gideon.

"Matches?" Gideon asked, slowly rising to stand with his companion. "What are we doing?"

Christopher looked over his shoulder towards Gideon. The pity was gone from his face, there was only understanding now. "You clearly need a new coping mechanism, and mine seems to work fairly well." He started towards his small corner. "I'm going to teach you how to box."


End file.
